Le Bon Voyage

Author's note: This story follows Roz, the MC from The Lollipop, and Puanani's Popsicle, though you need not have read those stories to enjoy this one.

This story depicts voyeurism, exhibitionism, female masturbation, and a bit of sugar mommy/sugar baby dynamic. It is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All characters in this story are above the age of eighteen.

Huge shout out to the beautiful and insanely talented onehitwanda for her incredible help in bringing this story to life. If you've been around Literotica even for a little while, there's a good chance you've read at least one of her wonderful stories. If not, give her a read. You will not regret it!

Le Bon Voyage

It had long been a dream of mine to visit France. So, while my friends had Cabo planned for Spring Break, I had my heart set eastward to the City of Lights. I didn't want beaches, resort nightclubs, Tequila shots and limes, and all-night raves. I wanted museums, cafes, the Eiffel Tower at night, a stroll along the Seine, a hot croissant, and maybe a hot French guy to sweep me off my feet. Yes, I know, how original, but give a girl a break. It still counts as a dream.

No one else wanted to go to France with me. But I didn't mind doing it on my own. In fact, the very idea of a solo trip excited me. I'm a very, very particular traveler (blame my dad). I need to plan everything to a T, and God forbid if that plan gets disrupted. My plan was Saturday: 7 AM, wake up and have breakfast at the hostel. 8 AM, take the line 7 metro to the Palais Royal-Musée du Louvre station to visit the Louvre (museum ticket already purchased). 12 PM, lunch at a bistro with a view of the Notre-Dame de Paris. 2 PM, visit Shakespeare and Company to pay homage to the writers of the Lost Generation. 4 PM, meander through the Luxembourg Gardens... Well, you get the picture. Try executing an itinerary like that with a group of friends - not going to happen. Yep, I was made for solo traveling. And I was over the moon about getting to enjoy my own timeline on my own terms.

The only blemish on my trip of a lifetime was that I'd have to endure a miserably cramped middle seat on an eleven-hour flight from LAX to CDG. But that's where my plans started to take a turn.

"I have some bad news, but also some very good news," said the check-in counter attendant. "We've overbooked economy, but because of that, we've bumped you up to business class. Here's your ticket."

As elated as I was about the prospect of dealing with the eleven-hour flight in a plush and spacy business class seat, I was floored by the person who would be my seat neighbor.

She had a stirred-latte-brown complexion, curly chestnut hair, and olive eyes that glimmered in the late afternoon sunlight that poured in through the airplane window. Her cream-white turtleneck sweater clung to the graceful curves of her shoulders and her shapely breasts, hugging her like she deserved to be hugged. She wasn't young, but she didn't seem too old either. Maybe a very youthful forties. And oh so very fashionable.

She was bobbing her head rhythmically to whatever music played on her noise-canceling headphones when she caught me eyeing the seat next to hers. She smiled and patted it. The way she smiled and the way her eyes glinted made me warm.

After I'd put my bag up and got comfortable in my seat, she stuck out her hand and waited for me to (nervously) take it.

"Hello there," she said.

Her accent was a surprise to me; it carried the delicate lilt of French. I suppose I shouldn't have been shocked-- we were on a flight to France after all. But I'm embarrassed to admit that I was surprised because I did not expect it based on the dark color of her skin. More so because being a half-Japanese, half-Korean girl, I looked about as Asian as you can get - but my accent is very West Coast.

"Hi," I replied breathlessly, clasping her hand.

Shameful racial biases aside, I adored her accent.

"I'm Rosalind. Roz for short."

"Lisette," she replied. "No short version I'm afraid."

That accent. My heart might as well be butter.

"Enchantée," I said, bringing my Duolingo French to bear.

She crinkled her nose. "Enchantée," she replied. "Are you visiting Paris?"

I nodded. "Oui. For my spring break."

"You are going with friends?"

"Actually no - I'm traveling solo."

"Ah, bon? Solo traveling is the best."

"I hope so. It's the first time for me."

"Well, you will enjoy it. Paris is a wonderful city."

"And where are you from?"

"Paris," she said, deadpan.

"Oh."

She giggled to break the awkward silence born from my yet another inadvertent racial profiling.

"Does it surprise you?" she asked, not yet ready to let me off the hook.

I blushed. "No," I quickly answered. "Of course not."

"You're very cute," she said, and I blushed even hotter at her directness. I melted into my seat. Her nose crinkled with amusement. Oh God, how wonderful the way her nose crinkles. You're very cute too, I nearly stupidly blurted, but didn't.

The flight attendant bustled down the aisle for the safety check. She pointed to my unbuckled belt and motioned with her hands for me to buckle it.

The plane lurched into motion.

"Well, Roz, I'm very happy to meet you and would love to chat more, but I am dying to sleep, so I hope you will not mind if I nap."

"Of course not. I'm jealous. I always have a tough time sleeping on an airplane. Have a good nap. I hope you don't mind if later I pick your brain about Paris. I would love to hear some tips from an actual Parisienne."

Lisette smiled. "D'accord. Remind me again when I wake," she said. One last smile, and she put her noise-canceling headphones back on.

She fell asleep before we even reached the runway. I pretended to stare out the window at the awe-inspiring scenery of the endless LAX tarmac. Really, though, I had my eyes on Lisette. I couldn't resist. Her beauty pulled my gaze toward her like gravity. The curls of her hair were as soft as her accent. Her neckline, a violin. Even her eyelashes were frickin' hot.

I pictured her sitting at a café in a warm sun-brightened corner. And then I pictured myself sitting across from her. Coffee to our lips. Her crinkle-nose smile and her sunny mocha eyes the entirety of my romantic Paris adventure. And her scent. Oh, how lovely her scent was. I didn't know what it was, but if you were to tell me it was either autumn rain or sun-soaked lavender, I'd believe you on both accounts. She was heaven to all my senses.

The airplane took off and climbed away into the sea of vanilla-colored clouds. The sun was just then dipping into the thin arc of the horizon, bathing Lisette's face warmly with the last of its yawning light. The stars had begun to twinkle when I finally dozed off.

***

I woke with my cheek plastered to Lisette's shoulder.

"Oh! Sorry about that," I muttered, sitting up. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and found her pleasant eyes watching me.

"Je vous en prie. I was happy to be your pillow. At least you do not snore. Much."

She had a glass of red wine in her hand. She took a sip.

"Oh, did I miss the beverage cart?"

"And dinner, I'm afraid. But I'm sure if we ask, they will bring you something." She craned her neck out from her seat to find the flight attendant.

"No, no, it's fine."

"Are you sure? Bien. Suit yourself. This is a good wine; a very nice Beaujolais."

"Oh, I wouldn't know a good wine from a bad one. I don't even know what a beaujo-whatever is."

There was that nose crinkle thing again. I smiled at her. She took another sip of her wine. God, even the way she sipped her wine was hot. Oh, how I wished I was that wine.

I shook the thought off. Can't be having naughty thoughts about my seat neighbor. To distract myself, I began to prod her about Paris. She seemed amused.

"Well, to be completely honest, I don't live in Paris very much anymore. The city killed my soul. It tends to do that over a long enough time. So I moved to Auxerre. It is quieter there. You can hear the birds sing. And the frogs at night in the summer."

"Oh, that sounds very charming. How do you like it?"

"Mmm, I love it. Relaxing. Just what my soul needed. You will be happy in almost any café in Paris, but if you come to Auxerre, I will show you what heaven is like."

I laughed stupidly. "Aw, thank you. That's so kind of you, but I have a pretty tight schedule to follow. After Paris, I'm going to Lyon, then Marseille, then Nice. But if my plans change, I'll be sure to let you know."

"Well, on the off chance that they do change, or perhaps if you'd like them to change, I am happy to host you."

She said it with such certainty, and not at all as a nicety as such things are usually said. I blushed.

"That's kind of you but... we just met," I replied meekly.

She shrugged. Took another sip of her wine. She brushed her hair aside and licked the bead of wine left lingering on her lip before replying, "I really don't care to know how much longer we have on this flight, but I am certain it is a lot, which is more than enough time to discover more about you and rescind my offer if necessary."

"Oh."

She laughed.

The flight attendant came by. Lisette raised her hand to catch her attention and spoke to her in French then gave her a credit card. It was too fast for me to catch what she purchased, but soon enough, I knew.

A bottle of champagne came, along with two elegant flutes. The flight attendant popped the cork, poured a measure into both flutes, and left the champagne bottle in a sweating pewter bucket of ice.

"What is this?" I said, softly.

"A very decent Jacques Selosse," Lisette replied.

"Oh no, I really cannot," I protested.

"Au contraire, you must," Lisette replied. She raised her glass. "Please. I will be forever grateful if you drink with me."

I dissented a bit longer but ultimately gratefully accepted and drank the champagne with her. When we finished, she ordered another wine, a chardonnay this time, and brie and crackers to accompany it. She had a story about the vintage that we were drinking, a long and involved tale about an early frost and a strike among the vineyard workers, but my head at that point was too much in the clouds for me to clearly process anything she said. Her voice was a poem - the sort I could sit and drink wine to. The lights had been dimmed to signal sleep, and we were the only ones in Business Class ignoring the hint. Our overhead lights fell on us like café lights, and Lisette glowed under them.

Our conversation meandered through our lives - mostly hers, though, because mine was very uninteresting. I had a Korean mother and a Japanese father, I grew up in Seattle, and I go to college in LA. That was all of it.

Her life was far more compelling. She'd been born to immigrant parents as well - her mother was from Senegal, and her father from Lebanon, and they worked their butts off running a convenience store to get her into a private music conservatory. She played the piano; she'd started with classical music but had eventually transitioned to jazz, where she'd found enough success to buy a small jazz club in Auxerre, where she often plays now when she's not on tour. She was returning from LA, in fact, from a show she had performed there.

Admittedly, I knew as much about jazz as I did about wine, but after hearing her story, and listening to her music, I was starstruck. The bar was set high for the rest of the trip. She'd said she would be happy to be my host should I change my mind, hadn't she? Well, I had half a mind to throw out my whole plan and take her up on her offer. I was swooning at the prospect of sitting at a jazz café in Auxerre, France, sipping Burgundy and listening to my sexy new jazz pianist... friend... play a sultry song.

Hudson Bay appeared; the water reflected the moon like a mirror, and the floating clouds were like soft pillows floating on it. I was in a daze. The perfect sort of daze that could only come from good wine paired with good cheese and the delicate treble sound of Lisette's wonderful voice.

At some point, and I wasn't sure when, our conversation had turned to love and relationships. I didn't have much to go off of, and most of what I had to say I was too shy to say much about anyway. She, however, talked freely about her lovers. She also wasn't shy when it came to sex. I suppose that's a French thing. But I also found myself wondering if the things she told me were things she hadn't told anyone else. I guess I seemed like a good sounding board. I didn't mind that at all.

"My first real lover came at University. Michel was his name. He was my professor."

She chuckled. "If he had asked me to marry him, I would have said yes at the time. He was good in bed. Very good. And he was so good with his tongue and not shy to use it, and if a man is good with his tongue, then you ought to marry him. That's what I thought. I was naïve."

I blushed thinking about someone going down on Lisette.

"So, you didn't marry?"

"No. He already had a wife, as it turned out."

"Oh no."

She nodded. "Oh yes. That was an interesting discovery."

"So then what?"

Lisette's smile widened as she planted her lips coyly against the rim of her wine glass. "Hmm, I stopped seeing him of course. Then, I had my first woman. Another of his students, in fact. Another of his 'lovers.' Her name was Fleur, and Fleur showed me all the things that made me feel lucky that Michel was already married and never became my man. She showed me what I was missing."

She chuckled as she watched my expression change. It pleased her to see me so excited to hear the stories of her rendezvous. And I was excited. My heart pounded. The way she said, "I had my first woman", so unapologetically, so nonchalantly. I was intrigued. Captivated. Gushing...

"What were you missing?" My throat felt so dry and tight, the words barely made it out of me. I took a sip of wine for relief.

"Mmm, a woman's touch, let's say. It's as simple as that."

"Oh?"

"Mmm... Yes. Just so. And what about you, Roz?"

"What about me?"

"Tell me about your love life."

I scrunched up in my seat. "Oh... well, I don't really have one."

"No?"

"Well, I've had a few experiences here and there..."

"With men or with women?"

"Um..."

My face grew hot. Why was she prodding? I had an idea of why, but I wasn't prepared for it to be true. How could someone as smart, sexy, and successful as her be so interested in some ordinary American girl like me? Maybe it was her way of passing the time. Maybe winding me up like this was a sport to her. I tried answering as nonchalantly as she talked, but the stuttering shyness in my voice came through.

"I guess... with women."

"You guess?"

My face turned more deeply red. I hid behind my wine glass. "I-I mean, yes, I've only ever been with a woman."

"Ah, oui?"

She gleamed. Her brows arched as she took a slow sip of her wine. I sipped too, and then she emptied the wine bottle into our glasses.

"But I'm interested in men too," I said as if it were prudent for her to know that. It wasn't, but I wasn't really in the state of mind to say rational things.

"Is that so," she replied.

"Well, I think... I'm mostly straight. It's just... I've only ever slept with a woman."

"Mmm, well we all have our naïvetés."

I wasn't sure what she meant by that. It sounded very much like a passive dismissal of my interest in men, as she seemed more interested in the fact that I liked women. But she offered no clarification.

"So, you are single now?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Ah, how perfectly lovely," she replied.

I let out a soft, slow breath. I was beginning to sweat now. I watched her intently, particularly her eyes. They watched me right back, like a predator evaluating its prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. I waited with eager anticipation for the strike, prey that I was. I was coy, but not coy enough to not goad her into striking.

I laughed. "Lovely? How is that lovely?"

She shrugged. "I adore cute, single women."

I laughed again. "And that's me I guess?"

"Naturellement." she grinned.

"Oh."

Be still my beating heart!

I could see very clearly that my squirming was exciting her. And she wasn't afraid to show her interest. Instead, she wore it openly with all the confidence of a woman who was accustomed to getting what she wanted. Right now, it was not clear to me that she would get what she was after, but I was leaning towards yes, yes, of course she'd get it.

"Is something the matter?" She asked with her fraudulently innocent French accent.

"You're hitting on me," I said, slowly and deliberately.

"Oh...so, I am," she replied, not as an admission of guilt, but a statement of fact. "Do you not like it?"

"Usually I don't."

"Usually."

I nodded. My heart was up in my throat. I drank the wine to get it to slide back down into my chest, to no avail. God the wine was good.

"And... what about now?"

I stayed quiet.

She cocked her head. "You do like it, don't you?"

I uttered a whimper of protest. As a matter of preserving my dignity, I wanted very vehemently to say no, but I just could not bring myself to. I had to admit the truth.

"Yes," I muttered.

"Mmm," she responded, pleased. She took a quiet sip of her wine, I did the same. Her eyes were fixed on mine.

What now, I wondered, now that the cat's out of the bag? What would she do with that devastating bit of information?

As a matter of fact, it didn't take long for me to find out.

"Do you find me attractive?" she asked.

My toes curled up; I shifted on my seat, warmth running through me.

"Um... yeah. I think do."

"You think you do," she echoed, amused.

I nodded.

"And if I were to ask you to dinner, would you say yes to that?"

"Are you asking me to dinner?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No. I'm testing you."

"You're testing me? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Roz, I find you very attractive. And you are smart. I adore smart and attractive. But I'm only interested in smart, attractive, and, most of all, adventurous women. So, the remaining question is: are you adventurous?

"And whether or not I say, 'yes' to dinner will determine if I'm adventurous enough for you?" I said, tartly.

"Well, what's your answer?"

I swallowed.

"If you were to ask me, I'd probably say yes."

"Good. I like that."

"So... do I meet your requirements?" I managed.

The attendant bell gave a gentle 'bong,' interrupting our intoxicating little flirtation. The flight attendant smiled at us as she walked past us to a man two rows behind to see what he wanted. We paused our conversation while the flight attendant attended to the gentleman's needs, then, when she returned to her seat at the front of the section, Lisette answered my question.

"It's a step in the right direction."

The wine made me bold.

"Hmm, then what else must I be willing to do?"

"Would you kiss me if I asked you to kiss me?"

"Kiss you?" I choked.

She nodded, expression serious for once.

"Like right now?" I asked.

"Whenever I ask you to."

"I... um...,"

My cheeks were as hot as a furnace. Sweat formed on my forehead. I didn't know exactly how to respond, except to say 'yes. Yes, I would kiss her. I would kiss her on her lips, and I would kiss the rest of her body too.' But I was too overcome with shyness to speak my mind. Curse my extremely introverted ass.

"That sounds like a yes," she said with a crooked smile.